


Pining

by kayforpay



Category: Homestuck
Genre: Imagined relationship, M/M, Masturbation, Pining
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-08-23
Updated: 2018-08-23
Packaged: 2019-07-01 10:21:31
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,381
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15772173
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/kayforpay/pseuds/kayforpay
Summary: drone season 2018!-You wish Karkat were here.You always wish Karkat were with you, and now that you're not dead anymore, you miss him even more.





	Pining

**Author's Note:**

  * For [CriminalCryptid](https://archiveofourown.org/users/CriminalCryptid/gifts).



You wish Karkat were here.

 

You always wish Karkat were wherever you are, but when it’s late on Earth C and you’re alone in your new hive that doesn’t feel right, you want his company even more. Not that you’ve even managed to hold his hand yet. You haven’t asked him out or even asked him over, but you still wish he were here with you now. He could sit next to you on the couch, and you could hold his hand and lean against his shoulder and just enjoy his company.

 

Wait. You’d have to tell him how you felt before you could get so close, probably. He’s still weird about his color, too. You would sit him down and just talk to him, because you always got along with him, and then you’d work up to it, really calmly. You’d face him and manage not to just stare into his eyes like you always do, and he always thinks you’re disgusted by his color even though you love it.

 

_ “I’ve always kinda liked you, Kar.”  _ You’d say, turning to face him, and he’d turn all red and gorgeous.  _ “I mean. I like you a lot. Not just kinda. You’re fuckin’ great and I know that, I just mean, like, more than friends. Fuck that’s cheesy.”  _ He would probably laugh, or just be red. You don’t know which you prefer. You’d continue,  _ “But I just. I really like you. If you were okay with it, I’d like to try an’ try somethin’ with you. Like, datin’.” _

 

He’d sputter, and pull at his shirt, mutter about you being long-winded and taking forever to get to the point, and look away, and you’d just take his face in your hands and kiss him, softly, and he’d kiss you back. And you’d be flushmates, for real. You could be like “it’s always been you” and he’d laugh because you know his shitty romcoms, and you’d kiss him again. He probably tastes like coffee. You could learn to really love coffee if he does. He would put his warm hands on your back and pull you closer, and you would kiss down his neck. You wonder if his ears are sensitive. 

 

You want to bite them even if they aren’t, they’re red-flushed and pointed and you love them. Or, you like them a lot, and you like him a lot. He would move to push you back on the couch and run his hands over your chest, your thighs, pull your legs open. You’d bare your throat for him and he’d kiss your gills, push your shirt up just enough to be out of the way. He wouldn’t mind how thin you are, how sharp your hips are, he’d call you beautiful. 

 

You run your hands over your chest, and drag your shirt up with your claws, eyes closed to think of him, his red eyes and red-flushed skin, the shape of his jaw, his hands as they would grip your hips and pull you closer to the edge of the couch. His knee pressing your thighs apart (you grind the heel of your hand against your sheathe and pretend it’s him, gasping gently), his lips against your fin calling you gorgeous. You don’t love him, but you could.

 

You could love him, if you had time. He’s stubborn and smart and loud and he makes you feel  _ good.  _ He would make you feel beautiful, too, maybe he’d kiss your stomach and hips, you wonder if he’d bite you. You want marks from him, proof that he had you. He’d have you vulnerable and take care of you. 

 

He’d unbutton your pants and you would kick them off like you are now, and he’d kiss you again and again. If you ever actually tell him, you’ll probably kiss him until you pass out. You press two fingers into your mouth while you move to slouch a little more. You pinch your grubscar with your free hand, thinking about how Karkat would probably be more romantic, actually. He would probably want to take you to your block and undress you completely, not just fuck you on your couch. He’d probably make it feel like  _ making love _ , honestly.

 

But you’re not going to do all that, you can imagine him just fine right here. Your fingers are slick now, so you stroke them against the edges of your sheathe, imagining they were warmer, maybe even a warm tongue, dragging over your sheathe, maybe a little playfully, teasinly, and dipping just barely into it. You breathe out a low moan, eyes closed tightly to imagine Karkat, his mouth and his eyes, that pretty red he turns. His tongue spreading your sheathe open just so. Your bulge twists out and against your palm and you sigh, stroking it slowly.

 

You wonder if Karkat likes dirty talk, or if he’s quiet. Maybe he just moans in that rough voice of his. The thought of that makes your nook clench, and you release your bulge while you imagine him curled over you, his lips just reaching your earfin, moaning your name so low it sounds like a growl. How big is his bulge? You press two fingers into your nook and stuff your shirt into your mouth to muffle yourself, even though you live alone. You can’t stand the noises you make.

 

Maybe he’d like them.

 

Curling your fingers, you sink down a little more, briefly entertaining the idea of Karkat coming by for something to see this, and not being disgusted by it. Him wanting you. Him coming over to kiss you, stroking his hand over your chest and telling you you’re gorgeous. Your thighs press together as you think of that, your fins twitching. You should have gotten a towel, you can feel your wet on the backs of your thighs, sticking to the couch when you spread them again to be able to move your hand more.

 

Karkat, you imagine, would be fast, moving against you so that his sheathe would press against the base of your bulge, the way your palm is hitting it right now, and when you angle your hand down more it grinds against you better. You bend your fingers just so and press them against your globes, and your thighs shiver. You clamp your jaws together to muffle yourself so you can stroke your bulge from base to tip, wondering if Karkat’s is bigger while you do.

 

You’ve never even imagined pailing  _ him,  _ because it just seems contradictory to how you both interact. You mean, you would, and as you think that, you imagine him easing himself onto you, gently spreading his outer lips apart and making some kind of noise you’d expect from pailvids. You’d bet he’s lava-hot inside. You imagine him throwing his head back and baring his throat, and his nook twitching like your hand squeezes when you’d bite it, nibble at his jaw.

 

Now that you’re not covering your mouth, you can hear yourself panting, making those rough, watery noises of yours as you move your hands out of sync and fast. You turn your head against the cushions of your sofa to try and muffle yourself, and between your noises and the way your hand hitting your nook makes a damp, sticky squish, you’re violet to your gills, shivering gently.

 

“Fuck,” you gasp, hips rolling up against your hand. “Fuck, fuck, ah. Ghh-Karkat.” You’re not really speaking, just mumbling softly. Your phone vibrates against your shoe where it’s fallen on the floor, and you groan, panting sharply as your look down your bulge straightening out, and then finally, you spill. You imagine Karkat’s hand instead of yours while you rub the slit of your bulgetip in short circles as you spill, dragging your orgasm out even longer. “Karkat. Fuck.”

 

After a few more seconds of twitchy thrusts, you slide your fingers out of your nook, and groan as material seeps over your hips. Gross. When you manage to sit up, having wiped your hands on your shirt, you grab your phone and kick your shoes off as you walk to your abulationstrap, looking at the most recent pings. The top message is from Karkat, asking if you’re busy.

 

Maybe you can take a quick shower this time.

**Author's Note:**

> ayyy!! the boys! maybe eridan will finally confess....


End file.
